The Past
by Misha Tedesco
Summary: Isabel becomes curious about Arkarian's life in the 600 years before she knew him, and her persistent questions leave him less than amused. Fluff, rated T for safety. I own nothing but the plot. All else belongs to Marianne Curley.


We're lying in a large, soft bed in one of the many rooms in Arkarian's chambers. Although he lives in the Citadel, still being rebuilt since the disastrous final battle, he uses this room when I come spend the night. Deep within the mountain, the room is windowless, yet does not feel stuffy or airless. The comfortable breeze I can feel, apparently adjusting to my liking independent of any controls, is just one of the many magical things about this place.

Right not, however, there are more pressing matters to attend to than the temperature. I asked a question, one that he is seemingly reluctant to answer. "It's a simple question, Arkarian. I'm just curious. Can you really blame me?"

He has an irritated look upon his face, as if confessing this would be the height of indecency. It's times like these I remember just how long ago he was born. I playfully land a light whack on his arm and say, "I don't mean to offend your archaic sensibilities, but you must have dated someone else in over six-hundred years of existence."

He moans and rolls over on the bed, so that I have a lovely view of his toned back, the lower portion of which is regrettably covered by a thin sheet. He must hear my thoughts, because he suddenly turns back around to face me, and kisses me forcefully. I know his game, however, and tell him so. "You won't distract me that easily! Surely you know me better than that. I am determined."

He scowls at me, but his expression quickly gives way to a mischievous smirk. "You were pretty distracted a few minutes ago, Isabel. So much so that you were unable to shield your thoughts from me. You have unknowingly given me quite the advantage over you, my dear."

Before I work out what he means by this, his body is on top of mine, and his mouth at my ear. "I know exactly how to distract you," he whispers, as his tongue darts out of his mouth and runs along the length of my ear in just such a way that I begin to genuinely wonder what I was pestering him about only moments ago.

His tongue continues its trail down my neck, pausing where my shoulder begins, and he firmly bites me there. I gasp, and almost succumb to the fog that always fills my brain during these intimate moments.

Unfortunately for Arkarian, my stubbornness is the stuff of legends. I turn the tables, and reverse our positions, flipping him over so that it is now his back pressed against the mattress with me hovering over him. My legs straddle his waist, and I capture his wrists in my hands. I know that he is allowing this to happen, and that he could easily escape my hold if he really wanted to. Even so, his submission gives me hope that I will get the answers I am looking for. "You're dragging this out," I tell him. "It does not have to be this painful."

He lets out a gruff groan and, loosening my grip on his wrists, pulls me down close to him. I rest my head next to his, and wait.

After a moment of consideration, he takes a deep breath and begins to explain. "You know that my gift of youth retention made a real relationship with anyone impossible. Until you acquired the same gift, I could not share this," his arm makes a sweeping gesture over our bodies, "with anyone. And I don't just mean physical intimacy. I mean everything. My life was incomplete before you."

I smile at his words, and the sweetness and honesty that I feel behind them is almost enough to cause me to drop the subject entirely. Almost. "What about your life in France, before you turned eighteen and the Guard took you in? Surely there must have been someone in those years."

He looks away from me for a moment, his eyes skittering around the room. I realize he's probably trying to recall that far back. It has not only been hundreds of years since his childhood in France, but life after the Guard makes everything beforehand seem somehow insignificant. All the same, he soon nods his head and shares more. "There were a few women here and there, mostly fellow slaves or servants in my childhood lodgings. Stolen kisses in the kitchens while preparing meals, or a rendezvous out in the stables while supposedly tending to livestock, that sort of thing. I believe there was one occasion that the daughter of my master took an interest in me, but I was thrown out of the house and onto the streets before that became anything more than a few furtive looks."

I find this interesting, although it does not surprise me. I would be shocked if several women did not take notice of an excessively attractive young man with flowing hair and rippling muscles. I run my gaze over him appreciatively, but he only rolls his eyes in response to my thoughts. "Being my soul mate makes you decidedly biased in this regard, Isabel. I am not so irresistible as you imagine me to be."

This I know to be patently false, but I don't push the matter. Modest to his core, Arkarian always has difficulty acknowledging his multitude of desirable attributes. Instead, I decide to keep the conversation going before he becomes less willing to indulge me. "What about after France? I know you say that it was impossible, but surely there were, I don't know, urges? I can't see you being as content to accept a life of celibacy as Lorian, with his determination to remain impartial. "

At the mention of his late father, Arkarian tenses slightly, and I regret my words. Of course bringing up Lorian was unthinking of me. Arkarian had an extremely close relationship with the immortal his entire life, and only found out Lorian was his father shortly before his death. The wound this tragedy left behind will probably never completely heal.

Picking up on my thoughts, Arkarian reassures me with a soft kiss, and strokes my hand, which is lying across his thigh. "Think nothing of it, Isabel. It's a fair question, and you're right. I was never at peace with the idea of a life alone, despite Lorian's insistence that mortal pleasures would only weaken and blind me. Early on in my apprenticeship with him, he taught me to meditate with the purpose of rising above such earthly attachments. This in addition to the fact that training with an immortal is so rigorous kept me at least somewhat satisfied for a long time."

He stops, but I sense there is more to this story. I look at him imploringly, encouraging him to say more with my eyes. He reluctantly continues. "Well, a time may have come when this training was not enough. But you must understand, Isabel, this was a long time ago, and must stay between us."

I don't completely understand his concern. Of course I would never betray his trust, and who could he possibly have been involved with that would necessitate secrecy?

Suddenly a thought hits me, and I look at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. He realizes I'm jumping to my own conclusions, and heaves a deep sigh.

"You were seeing a member of the Tribunal weren't you?" I ask triumphantly, sitting up out of excitement and gripping the blankets tightly.

He is now giving me a barely tolerant look, as if he thinks I'm no better than a gossipy teenager. I decide that he's probably right, but will not let him spoil my fun. "You couldn't be with a regular mortal because of your agelessness, so you dated one of the Tribunal!"

He is clearly not happy that I have worked this out, but confirms my suspicions with a curt jerk of his chin. He braces himself before he reveals which member it was, rising from his lying down position, and supporting himself on his elbows. "It was Queen Brystianne, if you must know."

Wow. An image of Queen Brystianne of the House of Averil, in all her golden perfection comes to my mind. "Oh," I reply, suddenly feeling a little less elated than I was a moment ago.

Arkarian picks up on my sudden change in mood, and peers at me through violet eyes narrowing in puzzlement. "Isabel?"

I turn my head away from him, and quietly say, "She is beautiful, I'll give you that. All that soft golden hair, and gowns, and tallness. I mean, if you're into that sort of thing." I trail off and he gives me a warning look.

"Isabel…" he says again, this time more firmly.

"And of course she must have so much knowledge and wisdom, leading a whole sector of the Guard on her own. It makes sense. I can see what drew you to her." And with that, I quickly hide my face in one of the many pillows that litter the bed.

"Unbelievable!" I hear him exclaim. "I finally give in to all your incessant prying, and this is my reward!"

I risk a peek at him from where I lay, face down in the pillow. I see that he has lowered himself down to where I lay, and is smiling at me, apparently having decided to be amused with me rather than frustrated. He shakes his head and laughs softly. "Isabel, is this not what you wanted to hear? I was perfectly content to leave well enough alone, and forget the past. And I hope you know that is exactly what it is: the past. And the distant past at that."

His words do abate some of my insecurities, and I can't help but ask, "How distant are we talking?"

He laughs again, and pulls me into his arms. "This was about three-hundred years ago. And as you are currently lying in my arms, and Brystianne is nowhere to be seen, I think you can infer as to how our relationship went."

He's right of course, but I make him tell me anyway. "How did it end?"

"Amiably. Although there was an undeniable attraction between us, we eventually came to realize our relationship was borne out convenience more than anything. Although she never said it outright, I think she was primarily thinking of what our union would mean for her House. For my part, I simply felt that something was missing. I must have known my future held better prospects."

As he says this, he puts his hand to the side of my face, which immediately has a calming effect. I feel any lingering doubts melt away. I smile up at him sheepishly, and silently ask forgiveness for my silliness.

"No forgiveness needed, my love. Now, are we done with this topic for the night? We travel to the past enough during missions, wouldn't you agree?"

I nod in assent and cuddle closer to him, resting my head against his solid chest.

"You cannot accuse me of inconsistency," he says, once I am settled in. "I obviously have a thing for blonds."

This earns him a glare from me, and I aim another smack towards him, this time closer to the general area of his face. He catches my wrist before it can land, and says with a small smile, "Tut tut, Isabel. There is no need to resort to violence." He leans in close, once again turning me into a puddle with a whisper in my ear. "I can think of a better outlet for your aggression."

And with that, we leave the past behind, thoroughly occupied with our present activities.


End file.
